


Breathe

by A_Stressed_Cupcake



Series: The Brotherhood of the Dark Kingdom [3]
Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Arachnophobia, Bad Parenting, Gen, That will make sense later, briefly, less supportive father, supportive sibings, the author is projecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:37:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23004400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Stressed_Cupcake/pseuds/A_Stressed_Cupcake
Summary: Quirin can't breathe sometimes.He doesn't know why.This work references the rest of the series.
Relationships: Adira & Hector & Quirin (Disney: Tangled), The Brotherhood - Relationship
Series: The Brotherhood of the Dark Kingdom [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653301
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> TW for anxiety and arachnophobes are advised to execute caution.

Breathing should come natural.

That was what every medicine text, doctor and basic common sense would say.

It wasn't always that easy for Quirin, though.

He was nine years old and the window was broken. 

It hadn't been his fault. At all. Some neighborhood kids had thrown a rock through the window while he was sitting outside and when they'd run away, he'd been left as the only suspect.

He knew it hadn't been him.

So why on earth he couldn't get a single word out when his father started yelling at him, he didn't know. In his mind, he was yelling right back at him.

It wasn't _ his  _ fault.

He should say it.

He never did.

He felt like his spine had been replaced by a rigid wooden stick, for all the good it would do him. His eyes were going dry from how wide they were. The muscles in his neck more closely resembled the strings of a violin.

But the worst part were his lungs. They writhed and burned, trying desperately to grasp and release air like they were supposed to, but nothing went in or out. 

He saw little black spots dancing in the corners of his vision. Actually,  _ dancing _ wasn't a good word.  _ Crawling _ was a closer comparison, crawling like hundreds of tiny spiders on his face, under his shirt, then under his skin and into his bones. 

They didn't go away no matter how much he moved. His hand jerked to the side a few times, but the spiders didn't leave. They didn't leave when he nearly fell over, startled by his father's frantic gesturing. They didn't leave when he dragged him back inside, or when he dropped to the ground because his legs just _wouldn't_ _carry him_ anymore, or when that fall predictably angered the man even more, or when he locked him in his room.

He could only feel them crawling away,  _ finally _ , when he collapsed against the closet and lost consciousness.

He was twelve years old and he still didn't know what that difficulty breathing was. No one had so much as suggested anything other than various chronic illnesses that were quickly debunked by the family doctor. 

And then there were Hector and Adira.

Two years after they'd become friends, they  _ still _ hadn't witnessed one of his crises (which is not to say that he didn't have any), and he would have been happy to leave it at that. It was frankly embarrassing how he shut down completely. He became essentially useless in a matter of seconds.

Why was that?

He'd never figured it out.

Either way, each time it happened, he silently hoped it would be the last.

He was thirteen years old and training was going to be starting soon. That was it. Just training. Nothing different than usual. 

But that wasn’t possible. There must have been  _ something _ . There was always something. 

If there wasn’t, then he should not be feeling that knot in his gut.

If there wasn’t, then he should not be having so much trouble standing from his seat. 

If there wasn’t, then he should be breathing fine.

He gripped the edge of the seat tightly. His arms trembled. 

Someone approached him. 

“Quirin, we’re going to be late.”

He caught a glint of red in the corner of his eye. 

Someone grabbed his shoulder.

He didn't realize it immediately, when he slapped their hand away in a knee-jerk reaction that he would come to regret very soon.

Adira looked confused more than anything, though. If it had been anyone else, she would probably have been annoyed, but after three years of knowing him, she knew better than to think he'd react that way just because.

And then there was his face. If Quirin could have seen himself at that moment, he would not have questioned her concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked him, and he couldn't answer her. He gulped down a very unsatisfying breath.

"I… I'll b- I'll be right there." he managed to stutter, but Adira didn't leave. She sat across from him with her hands on her knees, in that strangely formal way that puzzled the other boys at the barracks. 

She didn't say anything. Which was great, because he really wouldn't have been able to answer her if she had. His tongue might as well have been made of stone for all the good it would do. 

The attack passed, as it always did eventually. He didn't know how long it took, exactly, and it always felt different, but some time must have passed based on the silence around them. No one else was there.

It was only when she saw him start to breathe normally that she spoke again.

"What's wrong?" she asked him. 

He answered her sincerely: "I don't know. Happens sometimes."

"Are you sick?" her eyes scanned him for any sign of illness.

"No, no, no…" he shook his head, "No, I've seen some doctors. It's nothing. It just… happens."

"I don't think it's a good sign."

"Maybe not, but it's really nothing to worry about." he assured her, "Now, we really should go train. We were supposed to be there…" he paused. "Well, some time ago. Come on, let's go."

He tried not to let her see how much his legs were shaking when he stood up.

She definitely saw.

He was seventeen years old and his siblings were injured.

He did what he could, all day.

He gave Adira some cool water to help her with her burns. He recounted the whole incident to the physician as best he could. He searched the dark forest for Hector. He carried him out of that same forest on his back. He told the whole story to the first knight he found. He cleaned up Hector's cut and put him to bed and helped him and Adira start the conversation when he finally woke up.

But that was it.

He left the room as soon as they started to talk it out and then he let himself fall with his back to the wall. He could still feel the scratches from the bark of the tree he'd been slammed into. They burned.

But they didn't burn nearly as much as his lungs were starting to. They once again spasmed in a pathetic attempt to just  _ do what lungs do  _ and provide him with oxygen, but the oxygen was stubbornly refusing to go in. And the breaths got shorter and shorter and he got dizzier and dizzier until his spinning head fell upon his knees, starved of air.

He didn't know why it had come at that exact moment, but the feeling was there again. 

He waited for the storm to blow over, like he always did. Because it was nothing, right?

It didn't  _ feel  _ like nothing.

He didn't realize he'd fallen unconscious until Hector shook him awake some time later.

They looked concerned, he waved it off, and the subject was lost to time.

He was twenty-one years old and he had just been initiated as a member of the Brotherhood of the Dark Kingdom. 

A majority of the guards were stationed in the throne room that evening.

That might explain why, three hours later, the guards on the night shift in the dungeon found two guards dead on the ground and one cell open wide and distinctly empty, empty like it hadn't been in four years. And that was when the first spiders started running under the skin of his fingers.

"What?" he wheezed with what little air he had.

He couldn't remember the other knight's name, something with G, maybe, but it didn't matter.

"Yes. Unfortunately Sir Malcolm has escaped again." the older knight stated, "We have many forces on patrol, but we are required to warn all knights of this incident. You are  _ not  _ to seek out the fugitive." 

"Understood." he nodded, feeling like his legs might give out at any moment.

No one else caught on.

"What if we happen to find him?" Adira chimed in. Quirin gave her a half glare, which she blatantly ignored.

"In that case, you are to do everything in your power to detain him." 

The knight was already turning away from them in a hurry.

Quirin shut the door before either of his siblings could get another word out.

"You. Are  _ not _ . Going to look for him." he stated.

"Why not?" Hector immediately asked. 

"He's not that intimidating." Adira agreed, "Hector took him down with a branch. And he was thirtee-"

"I know that!" Quirin cried, without stepping away from the door: "But he had his back turned, and he wasn't  _ nearly _ as angry as he must be now. With Hector especially."

"Oh, is that why you don't want us going out?" his brother scoffed, "You know, it's been four years. I've trained and I've improved. What has  _ he  _ done in these four years? Sat in a jail cell."

"Do not underestimate a cornered beast, Hector." he pleaded, "He could have killed both of us and you know it."

"Well, he didn't."

"He could have!! The only reason he didn't is that he took too long to slit my throat!" he yelled.

Hector took a very small step back: "You really didn't have to go there, brother."

"Didn't I? Because you weren't listening."

"I was! Or I would, if you stopped babying me."

Quirin groaned in frustration: "You are not going out, and that is fin-"

"Where's Adira?"

Their argument deflated immediately.

They really should have seen it coming. 

"Hey, hey, wait for me!" Hector called after him. He sounded almost amused, which was infuriating, but he had bigger problems at the moment. The sounds of the town were growing louder and louder in his ears. He kept bumping into anything and anyone that he passed and, if the noise was sharper in his ears, the pain was a lot more dull than before. 

"Hey, calm down." Hector told him, probably. He was definitely talking to him, but as for what he was saying, Quirin couldn't tell. He sounded a little more frantic than before, like he'd realized he wasn't being listened to. Well, too bad for him.

He started to breathe a little easier when they were approaching the cave system outside of town. Almost like his brain recognized that he needed to keep his cool at that moment. Thanks, brain. 

Hector picked up his pace to catch up with him: "Hey, calm down. Adira's a force to be reckoned with, you think-"

"Yes, yes I  _ do  _ think that!" he snapped, stopping in his tracks just to face his brother: "Hector, did you look him in the eyes four years ago? Because I did. And I didn't see a person there, not even an animal. I saw a demon."

That comparison, for some reason, seemed to disturb Hector more than the concept itself.

"He was  _ enjoying _ it." Quirin insisted, "He was going to kill me and he would have enjoyed it. You, too. You think if he hadn't been distracted you would've walked out of that clearing?"

The words were flowing from the deepest parts of his soul at that moment. They’d been there for a while.

He didn’t leave Hector any time to answer. “So yes, I’m worried and no, I will not  _ calm down _ .”

He didn’t wait for a reply, turning back to the path and steeling himself for whatever was ahead.

Hector finally spoke up, still fixed back on the path by the sound of it: “I never thanked you, did I?”

Quirin slowed down, without stopping. Without turning around. “What?”

“For coming to look for me. I never thanked you for that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“No, I should have.” Hector sighed, “You’re right. I wouldn’t have made it out alive if you hadn’t been looking for me. I’m just used to… I don’t know. Going off on my own, I guess.”

“You and me both.” Quirin murmured, “And Adira. Speaking of which, we don’t have time for this right now.” 

“Time for what?” said a voice from the cave. 

They had never turned around so quickly in their life. 

Above the entrance of the cave stood a very familiar face. She shook her head and her snow-white braid tickled her temple: “Honestly, boys. If you’d just looked up…”

Her gaze trailed off to the tall oak tree above their head. It was so tall, in fact, that they had to turn their head all the way up to see where she was pointing. Bound by the ankles and most definitely unconscious, Sir Malcolm himself hung high above them. His long hair brushed against his limp arms with every gust of wind.

Adira cleared her throat: "Now…" she started, skipping down the side of the cave: "Should I wait for the guards or do you want to have a word with him right now?"

There was silence for a moment as the two young men stared up with wide eyes.

Then Hector broke into a short laugh: "He looks so stupid right now!"

"That was the idea." Adira smiled, "And I doubt he's getting down from there without any help. What do you say, Quirin?" she turned to her silent brother: "Up or down?"

He didn't respond immediately. His eyes were still fixed on the face he'd seen in his nightmares. 

"I don't think Quirin wants to be anywhere near the guy." Hector whispered, but not quietly enough.

Quirin shrugged: "It's not my decision, I didn't catch him."

"No, I did." Adira agreed, "And I'm asking you. Up or down?"

She leaned against the tree, ready to undo the rope if necessary.

They were both looking at him. Quirin took a small step back. Then another. Then a bigger step. The spiders bit and crawled just under the skin of his hands.

"I'll… I'll get the guards." he mumbled, turning back and speeding off without leaving time for a reply.

He could faintly hear a whisper behind him.

"I don't think that worked…" 

He was twenty-two years old and he had managed to avoid the conversation for six months. The worst part was that it wasn't the longest he'd gone without talking about something.

But all silences had to end, eventually.

In his case, it was a little more forceful than others, though.

Honestly, he should have known to be more suspicious when Adira insisted they spar a few more times after everyone else had left. It wasn't like her to insist. Then, he should have been suspicious when Hector was nowhere to be seen when it was time to go back to their room.

Of course, he should have. 

But he wasn't.

And so he didn't notice anything until the door to the common room was locked behind them.

"Wha-" he mumbled, trying futilely to pry the door open.

"I'd sit down if I were you." Adira suggested, dusting off a portion of the ground to sit cross-legged on the floor, "We're going to be here a while."

"What is this?" he asked, more indignantly than he'd intended.

He sighed when Hector slipped in through the window: "Is this one of your pranks?"

"Not exactly." his brother shook his head, sitting on the windowsill and effectively blocking all exits.

"We wanted to talk." Adira chimed in, "About…"

He didn't need to hear the rest: "Malcolm."

"Yeah, what else?" Hector scoffed, "There is a Malcolm-shaped hole on your forehead where concentration should be. And it’s been there for six months. Come on."

Quirin didn't answer. He was trying to, in his defense, but all he could think about was how he'd really appreciate not having to have that conversation at that exact moment. He could've gone without all the extra training fatigue, too. 

He took too long to answer, so Hector spoke again: "Out with the cat, Quirin, you know we're not letting you out until we know everything."

"That's the other thing." he mumbled, "What do you even  _ want  _ to know?" 

Hector leaned against the window frame with a sigh.

Adira took the lead: "When Malcolm broke out, you were acting really weird. I thought you'd be happier if he was locked up again, but when I captured him, you freaked out. Why is that?"

Very precise question. No room for loopholes.

But he couldn't exactly be honest, because he couldn't think of a way to say  _ I'd sooner see the entire army dead than either of you _ without committing treason.

"Look…" he said, "I appreciate that you're so loyal and I appreciate that you recaptured him, but…"

His siblings' expectant gazes pierced through him even when he wasn't looking at them. He took a deep breath and a deeper sigh before he could give his final answer: "But I don't ever want to see you endanger yourself like that again. Not for me, especially. We would have been safer at home, and now he's seen you and he knows you're with us." 

Adira quirked her brow: "So what?"

"So don't you think he might be angry?" he inquired. 

Adira wasn't too shaken: "I don't know if he even remembers us, honestly."

Something told him that was a lie. Maybe the fact that she wasn't looking at him and suddenly seemed to find the floor very interesting. He elected to ignore it, for the time being.

"I'm telling you, he's more dangerous than you're giving him credit for." he murmured, scratching the back of his head. His fingers brushed against his scar and his eyes fell to Hector's. He seemed to catch his stare, because his hand instinctively ran to the bridge of his nose.

“You worry too much.” Adira shook her head, “I get that it freaked you out, but it’s over now. You don’t have to worry.”

“That is…” Quirin took a deep breath, feeling the irritation of thirteen years bubble up, “That is exactly the problem, sister.”

Resigned, he let himself fall into a chair. 

Adira, of course, immediately took advantage of the breakthrough: "What do you mean?"

"I know I worry too much!" he exclaimed, without meeting their gazes: "I worry so much, about everything, and I freak out for no reason, without a probable cause, and then I can't breathe and…" 

He sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead. 

Hector whispered: “I know this is anticlimactic but… did you just say you  _ can’t breathe _ ?”

“Uh… yes?”

Silence fell.

“Uh, Quirin… I don’t know how to tell you this, but…” Adira shook her head, “That doesn’t sound healthy.”

“Yeah, I mean, that only happens to me when I’m seriously freaking out. Which is not often.” Hector interjected. 

“No, I’m telling you.” Quirin insisted, “The doctors said there’s nothing wrong with me.”

They quirked their brow in an almost symmetrical fashion. They were more synchronized than they would have ever cared to admit. It was almost cute.

“Well, look.” Adira said, “If you’re ever having one of your attacks we can just help you out of the room. Discreetly. Just give us a signal.”

“Yeah!” Hector agreed, “Like…uh…”

He brought the thumb and pinky of his tattooed hand together. 

“This looks subtle enough.” he nodded, very clearly proud of himself. 

So proud of himself, in fact, that all Quirin could do to answer him was laugh. Not a mocking laugh, or a nervous laugh, a genuine laugh of pure relief and of thirteen years of worry.

Hector was offended for little more than a second.

The signal worked, for the most part. Even three years later, alone on the road, even after he settled down, he sometimes found himself making the signal for  _ get me out of here _ . 

No one ever found out what it meant.

Still, it never left.

And sometimes, when he was reaching adolescence, when the anxiety was getting stronger, Varian would do it too.

**Author's Note:**

> I CAN PROJECT OKAY  
> Anxiety is fun.
> 
> Adira deserves some badass moments but let's not forget the nice moments, those are important too.  
> This fic has been incomplete for way too long hhh
> 
> -Cass


End file.
